Veruslibano.com: Lebanon Unplugged

Never did I set foot on her green meadows,

But her whiskey on my tongue stings the tip.

Her sunshine has yet to exalt my face,

Yet the tune of her harp falls from my lip.

 

Her smell I have not been graced with,

Nor her laughter felt.

Her bodhrán roars a humble beat,

As my feet march to the land of Celt.

 

Stomps of my boot on the earth a poem,

Sung only by a triumphant creed.

Cuchulainn in his death bed will tremble,

As my heels in this land becomes seed.

 

I march and on my breath a prayer,

That my fingers and her hair will thread,

And “Fáilte” on her gates will greet me,

“Welcome to the land of green and lead.”

 

From Londonderry to Cork,

Galway to the eastern shore,

A cross, my march will draw over Ireland,

As I cross to you; Ulster my promised door!

 

Her hills, her glowing pubs, her everlasting beauty,

Drunken lads, hurling sticks and snow.

The morning cigarette in Belfast,

And at night in Dublin pints will flow.

 

Drink away my beloved Ireland,

Drown your sorrows and sins.

With this wine we’ll reach tomorrow,

And a fresh day begins.

 

True, the wound is deep,

And deep is the wound you bear.

But bear with me my Ireland,

Because Ireland will soon be flare.

 

Pray with me my Ireland,

And together we shall longingly pray,

For a free, united Ireland,

And the martyrs of the IRA.

  

Ireland is yours; never would it be mine,

I am but an Arab; a curse I know, and cannot lie.

But know, that for you my Ireland,

And, for your sacred Ireland I would die.

 

My blood on my palm, and palm on cross,

Together we shall reach the day.

“Tiocfaidh Ar La!” the virgins cry,

“The day will come”, I say.

 

Our day will come, my Ireland,

When Ireland is for you free,

And with this Ireland I present you,

A ring to marry thee.

 

May the cross of Patrick bless you, may Yeats

Bring your ancient nostalgia to awaken.

May your heartache and pain be over,

May your dream never be forsaken.

 

Oh rugged beauty,

You speak of her as if she were a stranger!

What beauty is she without you?

What am I without you but a soul in danger?

 

Aye, truth be told that I am in danger,

My life withers away like a candle’s flame.

It seems hell rose the great army,

So that I would never come to speak your name.

 

Yet! Hades himself does not know,

That the gates of hell will kneel,

And I will rise as the phoenix,

And with you these lips shall seal.

 

One day, oh Ireland, I promise you,

With a tweed cap on my head,

My arms will embrace you my Ireland,

And Ireland will embrace me dead.

 

So look here, you goddess born of woman,

For the time is long past due.

I have fallen in love with Ireland,

And Ireland, my friend, is you.